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Chapter Three.
On the Qui Vive

“So it seems,” said the officer above. “But hullo, you! You’re wounded.”

“Pooh! stuff!” said Dickenson shortly; “bit picked out of my ear.”

“But,” – began the head of the rescue party.

“Let it be,” said Dickenson snappishly as he pressed his hand to the injured place. “If I don’t howl about it, I’m sure you needn’t.”

“Very well, old fellow, I will not. Ugh! what’s that down there – that fellow dead?”

The officer leaned out as far as he could so as to get a good look at the motionless figure at the foot of the cliff.

Drew glanced at the figure too, and nodded his head.

“Who shot him – you or Dickenson?”

“Neither of us,” said Drew gravely. “It was the work of one of your fellows; he fell from up there. But what about the party who crossed by the ford?”

“Oh, we’ve accounted for them. Cut them off from the ford and surrounded them. Fifteen, and bagged the lot, horses and all.”

“You were a precious long time coming, though, Roby,” grumbled Dickenson. “We seem to have been firing here all day.”

“That’s gratitude!” said the officer. “We came as quickly as we could. Nice job, too, to advance on a gang well under cover and double covered by the strong body across the river. There must have been sixty or seventy of them; but,” added the captain meaningly, “sixty or seventy have not gone back. How many do you think are down? We’ve accounted for a dozen, I should say, hors de combat.”

“I don’t know,” said Drew shortly, “and don’t want to.”

“What do you say, Dickenson?” asked the captain.

“The same as Lennox here.”

“Come, come, speak out and don’t be so thin-skinned. We’ve got to report to Lindley.”

“Six haven’t moved since,” said Dickenson, looking uneasy now that the excitement of the fight was at an end; “and I should say twice as many more wounded.”

“Serve ’em right. Their own fault,” said the captain.

It was decided to be too risky a proceeding to cross the river, for the Boers were certain to be only a short distance away, sheltered in some advantageous position, waiting to try and retrieve their dead and wounded; so a small party was posted by the ford to guard against any crossing of the river, and then the prisoners were marched off towards the village a couple of miles distant, where the detachment of infantry and mounted men had been holding the Boers across the river in check for some weeks past.

A few shots followed them from a distance at first; but the enemy had received quite as much punishment as they desired upon that occasion, and soon ceased the aggressive, being eager for a truce to communicate with the little rear-guard posted in the scrub by the river so as to recover their wounded and dead.

On the way back to the village the two young officer’s had to relate in full their experience, which was given in a plain, unvarnished way; and then as a sharp descent was reached, and the rescued officers caught sight of the well-guarded prisoners marching on foot, their Bechuana ponies having been appropriated by their captors, Dickenson began to grow sarcastic.

“Glad you’ve made such a nice lot of prisoners, Roby,” he said.

“Thanks,” said the officer addressed, smiling contentedly. “Not so bad – eh? The colonel will be delighted. Nice useful lot of ponies – eh?”

“Ye-es. The old man must be delighted. We’re all about starving, and you’re taking him about a score more mouths to feed.”

“Eh?” cried the captain, aghast. “Why, of course; I never thought of that.”

“Dickenson did,” said Lennox, laughing. “A thing like this touches him to the heart – I mean lower down.”

“You hold your tongue, my fine fellow,” growled Dickenson. “You’re as bad as I am. I don’t like the fighting, but I’m ready to do my share if you’ll only feed me well. I feel as if I’d been losing flesh for weeks.”

“And done you good,” said Lennox seriously. “You were much too fat.”

“Look here, Drew,” growled the young man addressed; “do you want to quarrel?”

“Certainly not,” was the reply. “I’ve had quite enough for one day.”

Further conversation was prevented by their approach to the village, which was built at the foot of a precipitous kopje, the spot having been chosen originally for its fertility consequent upon the fact that a copious spring of fresh water rose high up among the rocks to form the little stream and gully at whose mouth the young officers had met with their fishing experience.

This village, known as Groenfontein, had been held now for nearly two months by the little force, the idea being that it was to be occupied for a day at the most, and vacated after the Boers had been driven off. But though this had been done at once, the enemy had, as Drew Lennox said, a disgracefully unmilitary way of coming back after they had been thoroughly beaten. They had come back here after the driving; others had come to help them from east, west, north, and south, and as soon as they were strengthened they had set to work to drive the British force away or capture it en bloc; but that was quite another thing.

For, as Dickenson said, the colonel’s instructions were to drive and not be driven. So the Boers were driven as often as there was a chance; and then, as they kept on returning, the force had to stay, and did so, getting plenty of opportunities for making fresh drives, till the colonel felt that it was all labour in vain and waste of time.

Under these circumstances he sent messengers explaining the position and asking for instructions. But his despatches did not seem to have been delivered, for no orders came to him, and their bearers did not return. Consequently, like a sturdy British officer, he fell back upon his first command to hold the Boers in check at Groenfontein, soon finding that they held him in check as well, for even had he felt disposed to retire, it would have been impossible except at the cost of losing half his men; so he held on and waited for the relief which he felt would sooner or later come.

But it did not come sooner, and he relied on the later, making the best of things. Colonel Lindley’s way of making the best of things was to return a contemptuous reply to the demands made from time to time for his surrender.

The first time this demand was made was when the enemy had him in front and rear. The envoys who came informed him that his position was perfectly hopeless, for he could not cross the river in face of the strong body the Boers had lining the banks; and that they had him in front, and if his people did not give up their arms they would be shot down to a man.

The colonel’s answer to this was, “Very well, gentlemen; shoot away.”

His officers were present, and Drew Lennox and Bob Dickenson exchanged glances at the word “gentlemen,” for the embassy looked like anything but that; and they departed in an insolent, braggart way, and very soon after began to shoot, using up a great many cartridges, but doing very little harm. Then, growing weary, they gave up, and the colonel set one part of his men to work with the spade till dark, making rifle-pit and trench; while as soon as it was dark he despatched fully half of his force to occupy the precipitous mound at the back of the village, making a natural stronghold which he intended to connect with the camp by means of stone walls the next day, having a shrewd notion that if he did not the Boers would, for the mound commanded the place, and would soon make it untenable.

Captain Roby’s company and another were sent to this duty, and the men were carefully posted – Lennox and Dickenson on the highest part, which was naturally the most windy and cold. Their orders, which they conveyed to the men, were to keep the strictest lookout, though the enemy had retired far enough away; for the Boers had at that early period of the war already acquired the credit of being slim and clever at ambush and night attack.

But the night was well advanced, and the two friends, after visiting post after post, were sitting huddled up in their greatcoats, longing for hot coffee or cigarettes, and feeling obliged to rub their sleepy and tired eyes from time to time, weary as they were with straining to see danger creeping up over the black, dark veldt, but straining in vain.

“B-r-r-r! What humbug it is to call this Africa!” growled Dickenson.

“What do you mean?” replied Lennox.

“Mean? Why, it’s so cold. Where’s your blazing heat and your sand? One might be at the North Pole. Ow! don’t do that.”

He started violently, for Lennox had suddenly stolen out a hand and pinched his arm sharply.

“Quiet! Listen!”

Dickenson drew his breath hard and strained his ears instead of his eyes.

“Well? Can’t hear anything.”

“Hist! Listen again.”

There was a pause.

“Hear anything?”

“Yes; but I don’t know what it is,” said Dickenson, laying a hand behind one ear and leaning forward with his head on one side.

“What does it sound like?”

“Something like a heavy wagon coming along a road with its wheels muffled.”

“Heavy wagon drawn by oxen?”

“Yes,” replied Dickenson.

“Mightn’t it be a big gun?”

“It might,” said Dickenson dubiously; “but what, could a big gun be doing out there on the open veldt?”

“Lying still in its carriage, and letting itself be drawn to the place where it was to be mounted.”

“Yes, of course it might be; but it couldn’t.”

“Why not? Bob, old fellow,” whispered Lennox in an excited whisper, “I believe the Boers are stealing a march upon us.”

“Well, they won’t, because we’re on the watch. But out with it: what is it you think?”

“They don’t know that we are occupying the kopje to-night.”

“No; we came after it was dark.”

“Exactly. Well, they’re bringing up a big gun to mount up here and give us a surprise in the morning.”

“Phe-ew!” whistled Dickenson. “Oh, surely not!”

“I feel sure that they are.”

“Well, let’s send word on to the old man. Send one of the sergeants.”

“And by the time he got there with his news, and reinforcements could be sent, the enemy would have the gun here.”

“Let’s tell Roby, then.”

“Yes; come on.”

In another minute they had told their officer their suspicions, and he hummed and ha’d a little after listening.

“It hardly seems likely,” he said, “and I don’t want to raise a false alarm. Besides, the outposts have given no notice; and hark! I can hear nothing.”

“Now?”

They listened in the darkness, and it was as their captain suggested: all perfectly still.

“There,” he said. “It would be horrible to rouse up the colonel on account of a cock-and-bull story.”

“But it would be worse for him to be warned too late. There it is again; hark!” whispered Lennox, stretching out a hand in the direction farthest from the village.

“Can’t hear anything,” said the captain.

“I can,” growled Dickenson softly.

“Yes, so can I now. It’s a wagon whose drivers have missed their way, I should say. But we’ll see.”

“Or feel,” grunted the captain. “It’s as black as ink. – Here, Lennox, take a sergeant’s guard and go forward softly to see if you can make anything out. I don’t know, though; it may be as you say, and if it is – ”

“We ought to bring in that gun,” whispered Lennox.

“Yes, at all hazards. I don’t know, though. There, take five-and-twenty of the lads, and act as seems best. If you can do it easily, force the drivers to come on, but don’t run risks. If the Boers are in strength fall back at once. You understand?”

“Quite,” said Lennox softly.

“Let me go with him, Roby?”

“No; I can’t spare you.”

“Yes, do; I can help him.”

“He can do what there is to do himself, and would rather be alone, for it is only a reconnaissance.”

“I should like him with me,” said Lennox quietly, and he felt his arm nipped.

“Very well; but don’t waste time. I can hear it quite plainly now. Mind, fall back at once if they are in force. I’ll be well on the alert to cover you and your party.”

The requisite number of men were soon under the young officer’s orders, and they followed him softly down the rock-encumbered slope of the natural fortress – no easy task in the darkness; but the men were getting used to the gloom, and it was not long before the party was challenged by an outpost and received the word. They passed on, getting well round to the farther side of the kopje before they were challenged again.

“Glad you’ve come, sir,” said the sentry; “I was just going to fire.”

“Why?” asked Lennox softly.

“I can hear something coming out yonder in the darkness. You listen, sir. It’s like a heavy wagon.”

The man spoke in a whisper; then for some moments all was perfectly still.

“Can’t hear it now, sir,” whispered the sentry; “but I felt sure I heard something.”

“Wait again,” said Lennox softly; and there was a good five minutes’ interval of waiting, but not a sound could be heard.

“Let’s go forward, Bob,” whispered Lennox; and after telling the sentry to be well upon the alert, he led his men slowly and cautiously straight away out into the black darkness of the veldt, but without hearing another sound till they were, as far as could be judged, a good two hundred yards from the last outpost, when the men were halted and stood in the black darkness listening once more, before swinging: round to the right and getting back by a curve to somewhere near the starting-place.

The next moment the young men joined hands and stood listening to an unmistakable sound away to their right and nearer to the kopje. The sound was distant enough to be very soft, but there it was, plainly enough – the calm, quiet crunching up of the food a span of oxen had eaten, indicative of the fact that they had been pulled up by their drivers and were utilising their waiting time by chewing the cud.

“Forward!” whispered Lennox, and his men crept after him without a sound, every one full of excitement, for the general idea was that they were about to surprise some convoy wagon that had gone astray.

A minute later the munching of the oxen sounded quite loudly, and the little party was brought to a halt by a deep, gruff voice saying in Boer Dutch:

“What a while you’ve been! How much higher can we get?”

“Fix bayonets!” cried Lennox sharply, and a yell of dismay arose, followed by a dozen random shots, as the metallic clinking of the keen, dagger-like weapons was heard against the muzzles of the men’s rifles.

The shots fired seemed to cut the black darkness, and the exploded powder spread its dank, heavy fumes in the direction of the men’s faces, but as far as Lennox could make out in the excitement of leading his party on in a charge, no one was hurt; and the next minute his little line was brought up short, several of the men littering angry ejaculations, and as many more bursting into a roar of laughter.

Chapter Four.
Ways and Means

“Here, what in the name of wonder!” cried Dickenson angrily. “Yah! Keep those horns quiet, you beast.”

“What is it?” cried Lennox excitedly.

“Roast-beef, sir – leastwise to-morrow, sir,” cried one of the men. “We’ve bay’neted a team of oxen.”

“Speak the truth, lad,” cried another from Lennox’s left. “We’ve been giving point in a gun-carriage.”

“Silence in the ranks!” cried Lennox sternly as he felt about in the darkness, joined now by his comrade, and found that their charge had been checked by a big gun, its limber, and the span – six or eight and twenty oxen – several of the poor beasts having received thrusts from the men’s bayonets.

It was a strange breastwork to act as a protection, but from behind its shelter a couple of volleys were sent in the direction of the flashes of light which indicated the whereabouts of the enemy, and this made them continue their flight, the surprise having been too great for their nerves; while the right interpretation was placed upon the adventure at once – to wit, that in ignorance of the fact that Colonel Lindley had done in the darkness exactly what might have been expected, and occupied the kopje, the Boers had brought up a heavy gun with the intention of mounting it before morning, and had failed.

“What’s to be the next?” said Dickenson.

“Next?” cried Lennox. “You must cover us with three parts of the men while with the rest I try to get the gun right up to the kopje.”

It was no easy task, for the driver and foreloper of the team had fled with the artillerymen and the rest of the Boers, while the pricked oxen were disposed to be unmanageable. But British soldiers are accustomed to struggle with difficulties of all kinds in war, and by the time the Boers had recovered somewhat from their surprise, and, urged by their leaders, were advancing again to try and recover the lost piece, the team of oxen were once more working together, and the ponderous gun was being slowly dragged onward towards the rocky eminence.

It was terribly hard work in the darkness; for the way, after about a hundred yards or so over level veldt, began to ascend, and blocks of granite seemed to be constantly rising from the ground to impede the progress of the oxen.

In spite of all, though, the gun and its limber were dragged on and on, while in the distance a line of tiny jets of fire kept on spurting out, showing that the enemy had recovered from the panic and were coming on, firing as they came, the bullets whizzing over the heads of our men, but doing no harm.

“Steady! steady! and as quietly as you can,” said Lennox in warning tones, as he kept on directing and encouraging his men. “They are firing by guesswork. – Ah! that won’t do any good,” he muttered, for just as he was speaking Dickenson and his men, who had spread out widely, began to reply; “it will only show our weakness.”

He looked forward again in the direction the oxen were being driven; but the kopje was invisible, and now he altered his opinion about the firing of Dickenson’s detachment, for he felt that it would let the captain know what was going on, and bring up support.

He was quite right, for in a very little time Captain Roby had felt his way to them, learnt the cause of the firing, and carefully covered the retreat till the intricacies of the rocky ascent put a stop to further progress in the gloom, and a halt was called till morning.

The rest of the night passed in the midst of a terrible suspense, for though the Boer firing gradually died out, as if the leaders had at last awakened to the fact of its being a mere waste of ammunition, the British detachment, scattered here and there about the captured gun, lay in momentary expectation of the enemy creeping up and then making a rush.

“But they will not,” said Lennox quietly. “They’ll wait till morning, and creep up from stone to stone and bush to bush, trying to pick us off.”

“You need not be so cock-sure about it,” growled Dickenson. “They are in force, and must have known from our fire how few we were. A rush would do it.”

“Yes; but they will not rush,” replied Lennox. “They understand too well the meaning of the word bayonet. Cock-sure or no, they’ll make no dash; but as soon as it begins to be light we shall have a hailstorm.”

“Nonsense!” said Dickenson tetchily; “there’s no sign of rain.”

“I did not say rain,” replied Lennox, “but hail – leaden hail from every bit of cover round.”

“Oh, I see,” said Dickenson. “Well, two sides can play at that game; and I fancy we have most cover here.”

Lennox was quite right; for as soon as the first pale grey of a lovely dawn began to make objects stand up in an indistinct way upon the level veldt around the kopje, the sharp cracks of rifle after rifle began at every object that displayed movement upon the eminence, and the pattering of bullets among the rocks often preceded the reports of the Boer rifles.

But by this time Captain Roby had communicated with the colonel in the village, and had taken his steps, sending his men well out in the enemy’s direction to take advantage of every scrap of cover to reply wherever it was necessary, which they did, their efforts, as the time went on, to some extent keeping the Boer fire down.

The colonel grasped the position at once and sent assistance, with the result that, in spite of terrible difficulties, by help of horse and mule to supplement the pulling powers of the ox-team, the big gun, limber, and an ammunition-wagon, which daylight showed lying deserted a quarter of a mile away among some bushes into which it had been dragged in the dark, were hauled to the flat top of the kopje, where they were surrounded with a rough but strong breastwork of the abundant stones, and by the men’s breakfast-time a shell was sent well into the midst of a clump of bush which the Boers had made the centre of their advance.

A better shot could not have been made, for as soon as the shell had burst, the defenders of the kopje had the satisfaction of seeing that the greater part of the Boers’ ponies had been gathered into shelter there, and a perfect stampede had begun, hundreds of horses, mounted and empty of saddle, streaming away in every direction except that in which the kopje lay.

There was no need for a second shell, for the sputtering rifle-fire ceased as if by magic, the Boers retiring, leaving the colonel’s force at liberty to go on at leisure strengthening the emplacement of the enemy’s heavy Creusot gun, and forming a magazine for the abundant supply of ammunition, also captured for its use.

The rest of the day was occupied, by as many of the men as could be spared, building up sangars (loose stone walls for breastworks) and contriving rifle-pits and cover to such an extent that already it would have taken a strong and determined force to make any impression; while, when the officers met at the mess that night and the matter was under discussion, the colonel smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “pretty well for one day’s work; but by the end of a week we shall have a little Gibraltar that will take all the men the Boers have in the field to capture – a regular stronghold, ready like a castle keep if we have to leave the village.”

“And may that never be, colonel,” said Captain Roby.

“Hear, hear!” cried every one present.

“So I say,” said the colonel; “but we may at any time be ordered to occupy some other position. By the way, though, I should not dislike to send the Boer leader a letter of thanks for sending us that gun and a supply of oxen. How many must be killed?”

“Killed?” cried Captain Roby.

“Yes; several were bayoneted in that charge.”

“Three only,” replied the captain, “and they don’t look much the worse for it. Their flesh seems to close up again like india-rubber. The vet says they will all heal up.”

“Good,” said the colonel. “Take it all together, I shall have a pleasant despatch to send to the general. The capture of the big gun; not a man killed, and only three wounded. How are they getting on, doctor?”

“Capitally. Nothing serious. But, by the way – ” The doctor stopped and began to clean out his pipe.

“Yes, by the way?” said the colonel. “Nothing unpleasant to report, I hope?”

“Um – no,” drawled the doctor. “A fresh patient with a touch of fever; but it wasn’t that. I meant – that is, I wondered how you meant to send the despatch?”

“Ha! Yes,” said the colonel thoughtfully; “how? I don’t feel disposed to risk any more men, and I hear that the Kaffirs do not seem to be tempted by the pay offered them, although I have offered double what I gave before.”

“That’s bad,” said the doctor. “Well, I suppose you can hold this place?”

“Tight!” said the colonel laconically.

“So long as provisions and ammunition hold out?” said Captain Roby tentatively.

“Yes,” assented the colonel.

“And when they are ended,” cried Dickenson, who had sat listening in silence, “we can try a bit of sport. There are herds of antelopes and flocks of guinea-fowl about, sir.”

“I doubt it, Dickenson,” said the colonel, smiling; “and I fancy that the most profitable form of sport for us will be that followed out by our mounted men.”

“What’s that, sir?” asked Dickenson.

“Stalking the enemy’s convoys. These fellows have to be fed, hardy and self-supporting as they are. But there, we are pretty well supplied as yet, and the great thing is that our water-supply is never likely to fail.”

The next morning the Boers made a fresh attack for the purpose of recapturing the gun or seizing the kopje where it was mounted. But this advance, like several more which followed, only resulted in a severe repulse, and at last their attacks formed part of a long blockade in which they hoped to succeed by starving the little British force into subjection.